Snow Clock

Under streetlights In the silence of snow I am back when my breath was last this loud Electric You tug at my t shirt with your left hand and your nails graze my skin Our pupils dilate, distending out to greet each other in a grotesque bridge of wet, dripping, obsidian flesh So I feel like a black hole I am a focus as intense as a drug A rip on the edge of an edgeless sky And we are all consuming And we are almost one. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t this way, where I am a clock-watcher, and I glance up to see the hands always aligned. And so where are we without an endless pull? Without 12:30? Without a 12:01? The clock is broken Or time has stopped And it is stale Or I am stale Or we are stale